Don't Disappoint Me
by screamin-psiren
Summary: Joe Reisert is willing to do anything to protect his daughter. Including hiring someone to get to Rippner before he gets her first... Might just be a oneshot, undecided. Idea might be better in my head :S RnR.
1. Chapter 1

Hellooo ppl, this is my contribution to Red Eye-ness. Now before you all hit me, I am as much a fan of the Jackson/Lisa pairing as anyone, in fact I love it. I just wanted to try something new. Either way I hope you like it, enjoy! 

1  
Agony, plain and simple.  
That's what having someone wram a pen three inches into your jugular, is.  
Jackson drummed two fingers on the scar at the base of his throat, each sharp vibration of pain giving him momentum to the anger inside him. His bright blue eyes narrowed thoughtfully, his face studiously blank as that anger coiled up inside him like tamed venom, only rleased in small spurts of calculated, ruthless violence.Lisa, Reisert.  
Oh she'd been a clever little bitch, he wouldn't take that away from her for a second. He'd underestimated her in over a dozen ways, thinking the job would be easy from all he knew of her dull, regulated, safe little life. Slightly inebriated from the Seabreeze, vulnerable from her fear of flying. Daddy's little girl, the call should have been easy to manipulate out of her. But of course not. Because she had a spine of steel under all the mundane softness.  
It'd been tenacious of her to keep talking when the phones went out, with the soap. Stupid, but tenacious. Nonetheless, he had been sure a small amount of violence would bring her back in line. He smirked even now at their 'quickie'. Clever or not, she'd still seemed soft as a kitten, ridiculously vulnerable, at that stage. He knew better now. His body pressed into hers, a surge of dominance had gone through him even as he squeezed that beautiful neck. Then he'd seen the scar. The perversity of his anger at seeing it when he was himself attacking her was not lost on him. He was a professional. Woman or not, he hurt, and killed people, when they needed to be, with a ruthless efficiency.  
The gentleman in him still balked at that scar, jealous, possessive, protective anger flying free.  
What was the rapists excuse for that marring of her skin?  
When she told him, he had been unduly moved by the confession. He knew now that had been the intention, to make him think he'd broken her in entirely. Before that he'd been doing this job with his eyes half-shut, another silly woman, another phonecall, another pay cheque. Far too much fell into place when she told him. Far more than he wanted to. The distraction that work provided for her, making her busy, stopping her having to think. Her devotion to her dad, the only man she now trusted. That further dimension of crippling panic in her lovely eyes as he'd forced her back into the bathroom, crushing against her and cutting off her breath...

A feeling he empathised with when she thrust that fucking pen into his throat. In truth, he'd been lucky. That one shot could have killed him. Instead she'd just made him open his eyes. He was paying attention now, even if roaring pain and anger were clouding his vision. Not many women, even in a situation as dire as hers, would have been able to do something that brutal. Even as he'd been choking back on the acquired taste of blood and mind-blurring fury, he'd been impressed. He'd hit her nerve and she had snapped. But that meant very little at the time, at the time rage had won out. She'd made him fail a mission, a pay cheque gone cause he hadn't paid enough attention. He hadn't messed her around, he'd told her like it was. Now she was just another loose end that needed tidying up when he could have left her to live her safe life.  
Shot twice. Stabbed in the lege with a shoe of all things. Arm broken from that hockey stick. Christ if she wasn't a feisty thing. It'd been a while since anyone had managed to hurt him that bad. He'd almost been beginning to enjoy himself with her. Challenges had always gotten him off and she had certainly been that. But she had won. And that, was unacceptable.

'Thank you for meeting me here. I'm rather new to all this'  
'That's fine Mr. Reisert. What can we do for you?'

Joe Reisert didn't need to ask who this 'we' was. The man he was addressing, an unassumingly dressed individual with brown hair and glasses, was simple a middleman to a higher place. He sipped his beer nervously, glancing round the quiet bar as the man watched him patiently. Despite his low status he was still a danger, and a part of Joe's brain was debating whether he was seriously going to go through with this. He was a law-abiding man; getting involved in situations such as this had never crossed his mind, but then it had never had to. It astounded him how much could change. His divorce had shown him that, and after that... Love swelled up in him like courage itself around his heart. Maybe it was dangerous. But he wanted security, finality for the daughter he loved more than anything, and who had suffered enough.

'I need protection.' he said finally, downing the bourbon he'd bought along with his beer. The man's opposite's expression soured 'We're not in the habit of finding bodyguards for people Mr. Reisert. I'm sure you could find someone perfectly satisfactory through more... legitimate means'  
Joe shook his head and smiled dryly 'I'm not looking for just ordinary protection. I want someone as professional as HIM looking after her, someone who can get him out of her life for definite'  
An eyebrow rose quizzically.  
'Him?'

Lemme know what you think ppls, I shall write the introduction of the O.C. and you can decide whether you like it. If you don't then I have failed, and you may club me to death. With candycanes. XXXX


	2. Chapter 2

Helloooo ppl, thank you soo much for your reviews! To be honest I wasn't expecting any messages considering how rushed and generally crap the first chapter was. Still I hope you can have faith in me just a leeeedle to do a better job. Hope you like it, enjoy!

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Myra headed towards the baggage belt at a confidently fast pace, a hard task to acheive in a situation as busy as an airport. Smoothly she rolled her body out of the way of a businessman talking frantically on his mobile phone that would have otherwise ploughed straight into her. Her speed didn't falter as she continued to weave through the lagging and distracted people that made up the populace of the terminal, coming to an abrupt stop mere inches away from a little girl who had decided to sit on the floor directly in her path.

She balanced precariously on the balls of her feet, before retaining her balance. The mother scrambled over and hauled the girl up, muttering apologies,

'I'm so sorry, can't keep my eyes on them for more than a minute.' she said, laughing at herself.

Myra smiled briefly and politely before stepping up to the baggage belt, eyes skimming over the various pieces of luggage for her suitcase as well as surveying her surroundings.

Myra had characteristically unnerving eyes when and if she decided to settle them upon you, eyes with a calculating power and intensity. In such instances, you would normally regret having caught her full attention. It was part of her nature that her eyes were constantly looking, calm and relaxed but watchful, acutely aware of all that was around her. She opened up her cell phone as she waited, confirming the hire she had already organised for a van. She could kit it up as soon as it was handed over to her. She finally caught sight of her three large suitcases and swung them off the belt easily in turn, flickering a swift glance round to find a trolley to throw them on. She brought a trolley over and placed the bags on it carefully before ploughing back out through the crowd and towards the exit. Her steps were crisp and confident despite the weight of the trolley. She itemised in her head the equipment she had brought with her. Primarily surveillance but then guns had never really appealed to her. They were too showy and loud, caught too much attention. Any low-street thug could fire a gun, though she had been that herself in her time.

Her cell phone rang and she answered it without hesitation. Only two people had this line; her employer and her current client.

'Mr Reisert.' she addressed smoothly even before he had spoken, her boots clicking smartly on the pavement as she rolled up to the hired van, signing the release form with the phone tucked into her shoulder.

'Ah yes hello Miss uhhh Devlin is it?'

'Call me Myra.' she replied, flashing the man from the Van Agency a charming smile as he left. It had taken a lot of manipulation to get them to come to her at the airport, but she'd wanted to get set up as soon as possible.

'Myra then, I was just checking that your plane had landed safely. Are you sure you don't need me to pick you up?'

Myra smiled warmly for the first time in what felt like forever. You could tell this man had never done this before. In truth, the less contact she had with him and his daughter the better. Her arrival in their lives could cause curiousity to be aroused in both legal and illegal circles. If his daughter was being watched as carefully as he feared, the last thing she needed was a change in her routine that would cause action to be taken. And aside from that, _noone_ was normally this courteous to her, especially on a job.

Maybe that was why she'd taken the job without waiting for confirmation from the company. The job they were sceptical might be too complicated by the characters involved.

The man had just seemed so damn nervous and polite. And, sucker for a love she couldn't remember, Myra had been touched at the lengths this man would go to for his daughter.

'I'll be fine thank you Mr. Reisert. My transport is already arranged.' she replied as she swung her cases into the back of the van and climbed in after them. She didn't doubt she looked unusual, climbing into a dusty white van in a relatively smart suit and heeled boots. But then dressing as inconspicuously as possible had been first on her mind. No one looked twice at a woman in a suit; she was instantly dismissed as a Power-Bitch Businesswoman, especially in Miami.

She pulled her hair out of its tight bun and sat up on her knees unlocking one of the suitcases and pulling out the changes of clothes that were wrapped around her equipment.

'I'll meet you outside your daughter's house in half an hour. You can explain the situation to her then.' she said as she unrolled the sleeping mat in one corner and started piecing together the wire connections of her video systems. Another sign of just how disconcertingly personal this job was. He hadn't even mentioned this affair to his daughter, she was only being informed upon Myra's arrival. She winced as she imagined how weird it would be; like one of those Confrontation meetings with an alcoholic or something before you shuffled them off to Rehab.

'Alright I'll see you there. Thank you.'

'Thank me when I've finished the job Mr. Reisert, not before.' she responded with humor before hanging up. Sighing she started to unbutton her shirt to get changed. She really needed a coffee. Or strong alcohol, whatever she could find first.

She winced as she peeled the shirt off a bandage she had on her upper arm. An inch deep, three inches across gash courtesy of some flying shrapnel from her last job. There wasn't many an occasion when she wasn't bandaged nowadays. Not that she'd lost her touch, her success rate was proof enough of that.

She sometimes wondered if she looked for difficulties, a little chaos in the formulaic killings she performed. Anything to prove to herself she could still function, she could still feel. She didn't have the excuse of past hurts for her irrationality, while they lived and breathed with her like an extra limb made out of raw feelings, those feelings had softened over time. She no longer could be reduced to sheer screaming despair, because time was meant to heal all wounds.  
She leant against the cool metal of the van and closed her eyes, breathing slowly.

One year. Two years. Three years.

Year after year with no personal life creeping in around the eges of a job that was all she was. She wasn't sure what personality she had left. The only people she met were clients and people she intended to kill.She remembered to the word the last conversation she had had with someone she would describe as a friend. She felt no pity for herself, it was the life she had chosen. Feeling sorry for herself would change nothing.

Pulling a T-shirt on over her head she flipped out her thick hair and glanced at her watch. Twenty minutes. She needed to focus. She slid into the front and got behind the wheel, glancing in the rearview mirror at her reflection as she did. Her greeny-blue eyes were bloodshot, but bright and sharp.

He was a planner, not the assassin himself normally but in this instance it wasn't a job. He'd be less skilled with physical attacks, but skilled enough. Emotionally manipulating people into his control was his expertise.

She set the engine running and pulled out of the carport, eyes narrowing into the sunset.

He would be expectional at information gathering, and just as good at covering his tracks. The easiest logical plan would be to wait for him to begin surveillance on Miss Reisert again, but then she would be constantly chasing his moves instead of setting the pace herself. Besides she wasn't here to babysit, she couldn't keep an eye on the woman the whole time.

She turned out into the motorway traffic, reaching behind her and pulling her harness out of the suitcase as well as her jacket.

He wouldn't necessarily be using the same name. It didn't matter, she had managed to find out most of his aliases through different sources.

She changed lanes swiftly and received irate honking for her trouble. She coolly flipped the man off as she steered with one hand before removing a ten inch blade from its sheath in her holster. She smiled at the immaculately gleaming length of the blade. For the next however many weeks or even months, he would be her focus, her study, her passion, her sole occupation. The short-lived obsessions that came with being a killer, the intimacy before the hit. She wondered idly what he looked like.

'Jackson Ripner' she murmured, testing the name's taste on her tongue. She resheathed the knife in the holster, and sped up.

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Lemme know what you think peoples, I know there's no Lisa and or Jackson in this but I'm trying to establish the OC. RnR! XXXXXX 


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